she thinks ruby red shoes
go with everything
from polka dot blues
to metallic emerald greens
clicking her heals
while fashion traveling
over the rainbow
of wild color schemes

bats her baby blues
in her ruby reds
cutting ties loose
if truth need be said
with folks back home
those down on the farm
holding no candle to
what she now has going on

she's found the future
discovered the fame
that circumstance lent her
in black and white days
now technicolor
with purchases made
where ruby red shoes go with everything
life tosses her way

You'll never know a fairer pod,
Than when you meet a therapod;
For a therapod will care a lot
And doesn't want to scare a ***.

So if you chance to meet a therapod,
Don't think that it's a terror pod –
A therapod is a rarer sod,
Unless you meet a pair o' pods.

I gave my hand twice
on the battlefield of love

Now let me ask you

how's a veteran pick up
the pieces with both
sleeves pinned-up

and why the hell does
a blind man need a crutch?

his old arm points west,
so weighted with years, his crooked
finger aims down, to the cracked ground
more than to the setting sun

thrice in eighty plantings,
he's seen these droughts drench
the thirsty earth with white fire
but this one, he swears upon
creation, is the worst

holy houses fill with prayer
for rain--the man says this is in vain,
though the good lord hears all entreaties
he has always been miserly
with his mercies

this shall pass
he avers, but he doubts
he will see another warm summer rain
his baptismal to come as wind
from the scorched plains, one
that scatters but dry seeds for
tomorrow's harvest moons

down south we love our goobers
salt em up and set to roast
eat em by the dozens
drink em in our cokes

fix em fancy in deserts
peanut butter pie
big and small all size and sorts
eat em till the day we die

granny loves to cook em
goobers in green beans
adds a bit of crunchiness
to the down home sunday dinner scene

with newspapers set out on the floor
in front of  television sets
cracking shells like walker texas ranger
does good for nothing yankee heads

buy em hot and buy em boiled
along the roadside stand
spilling goober juices
all over the cars naugahyde rotan

finger licking greasy
from out a planters can
down south we love our goobers
like you done heard me said

we are to big for this space

there must be some law or
science that says it isn't possible
for us to fill the same air, and yet
here we are again, breathing
into each other's worlds,
inhalations of new life, exhales of
little deaths and

we are defying every rule we were told,
every promise we made to stay away,
every regulation made for our own good

it is dangerous and explosive and beautiful

I might be a few years to late
As this has been decades in the making

But I'm going through with a commune
To give a few hippies something to do

So I wrote an ad, put it on a list
They say this guy Craig is the best

Now my yard is filled with hippies by the score
Or would the proper way be to say hippies galore

I hurried them all into the house
It wouldn't do for the neighbors to find this out

I set up booths in different rooms
I handed out name tags and colorful kazoo's

Don't let it be said I run a shabby commune
You gotta keep the hippies happy in all you do

That's why I have a calendar of special events
From karaoke kazoo to rug making with hemp

On Tuesday's we basket weave, Wednesday's we kite
But never in the day as hippies burn in the light
(Or is that Vampires...scratch that, that may not be right)

I even hired a Jerry Garcia look a like
To call out the numbers on Bingo night

All this hard work hasn't gone for not
Communes and Jefferson Airplane tunes last week called me up

They'd like to feature me in their magazine
A full page article on living the dream

Where I can help others to have their very on
Commune to invite a few hippies along

So go out if you can to a magazine stand
Read how it's done then buy you some land

We'll have hippie commune's from one end to the other
No color nor creed just sisters and brothers